


Company

by Carohas



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Army, F/M, Married Sex, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:07:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3420485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carohas/pseuds/Carohas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So I got this prompt: BELLAMY IN THE ARMY AND HE SURPRISES CLARKE BY COMING HOME AND INTENSE LEMON/FLUFF????????????<br/>And went from there.<br/>Clarke and Bellamy are married and he surprises her by returning home, on leave, for a week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Company

**Author's Note:**

> Like, there's a lot of smut, guys. Like 70-80%. Fair warning.

Clarke pulls into their driveway slowly, cautiously, tiredly. It’s been a long day in the emergency department, and there’s nothing she’d like more than to take a long bath with the man she loves. If only he were here. She lets her head fall against the steering wheel as she summons the energy to go inside, feed herself and go to bed. “You can do this, Clarke,” she mutters, pushing the door open, swinging her legs around, and using her arms to pull herself out of the car. 

The lights are off, and the house is empty, void of life. It left with him.   
As she waits for her meal to cook, she looks from the kitchen to their lounge, reliving the day they moved in and he carried her across the threshold, the time they argued about couch placement and the subsequent sex on said couch. The time they were watching the news and she was proved right; their country would be going to war. The following week spent in dread as she waited for him to tell her the inevitable news: he’d enlisted.   
The microwave beeped, waking her from her reverie. Taking her meal with her to her room, she first stopped next to the calendar she had hanging on the wall, and marked today’s date with an X. She didn’t need to go through it to know how many days he’d been gone, how many days she’d been alone in their home, fearful for his life. 259 and counting, with only a few letters, emails and Skype calls to numb the pain. 

Stripping her clothes off, she grabbed one of his old t-shirts and hopped into bed. It barely smelt like him anymore, but she felt closer to him this way, somehow. Sitting with her dinner on her lap, she reached for her bedside drawer, pulled out the small collection of letters she had from him, and began to eat and read.   
She was halfway through her meal when she noticed a car was parked on the road outside. She was about to get out of bed to investigate when it drove away, leaving her calm, quiet street to settle back into the night again. She had just turned back to her food when she heard footsteps outside. It was times like these she was sorry she hadn’t gone to live with Octavia or Raven when they’d offered. Usually living alone was peaceful, but other nights… Well, her imagination did have a tendency to run away with her.   
Slipping out of bed, Clarke reached for the baseball bat she knew Bellamy had left there for her, for moments exactly like this, and tiptoed through the hallway, jumping when she heard a loud knock at the door. Suddenly her mind took a different track,  _what if they’re here to tell me he’s dead?_ Pushing the hair back form her face and taking a deep breath, she prepared herself, keeping the bat ready over her shoulder, just in case. “Coming!”  
She turned the lock and pulled the door, prepared for whatever might be on the other side. Well, she thought she was prepared. As the door swung open, a man in uniform was revealed on the other side, a sly grin on his face and a backpack in hand. “Bellamy!”  
“Sorry, Princess, lost my key.” Dropping the bat, she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms and legs around him as tight as she could, pressing quick kisses up his neck and along his jawline, eventually making contact with his own.   
She could feel the tears rolling down her cheeks, and as they turned to sobs, she broke the kiss and rested her forehead against his. She felt his gentle lips on hers once more before he carried her inside, walking her into the kitchen and sitting her on the counter.   
His hands ran over her thighs softly as he waited for the tears to end so they could have a conversation. “Clarke, honey, it’s okay, I’m here. I’m here.”  
“When did- How did- Why?” She had a million questions to ask and she couldn’t get any of them out.   
“I was given leave yesterday, and left straight away so I could come here. I have a week, then I have to go back.”  
This new information almost brought the onslaught of tears again, but she breathed her way through it, trying to stay positive about the week they would have together. “Okay.” She hopped down from the counter, pushing her way past him. “Are you hungry? I can cook you something. I have… Uh… eggs. And rice.” She looked through the fridge, “and some bacon… that looks like it expired around the same time you left.”   
“Clarke, stop, Clarke, I’m not hungry. I don’t want food, I just want you.”   
She looked up at him with tears in her eyes as she responded, “well we don’t always get what we want.” She moved past him coldly, walking to their bedroom as quickly as she could manage.   
“Clarke, what is that supposed to mean!” He yelled from the kitchen, moving to catch up to her in the hallway.  
“It means we don’t always get what we want, Bellamy! For example, I didn’t want a husband who was never here! It’s been so long, Bellamy, waiting for you. It’s been-  
“Two hundred and fifty nine days,” he completed.   
Her eyes flicked up to his as she slowly continued, “yes. It’s been that long, Bellamy. Sitting in this house alone, worrying. You know, I’ve lived longer in this house by myself than I have with you?”  
“I’m sorry, Clarke, leave isn’t exactly easy to come by.”  
“But you didn’t have to enlist! You didn’t have to leave! You could’ve stayed here! With me!”  
“Clarke, you know I couldn’t do that.”  
She sighed, acknowledging this truth. “More fool me for marrying the honourable type,” she muttered, not quite low enough to remain undetected.  
“Excuse me? So now you regret our wedding day? By Christ, Clarke! Do you want me here at all?!”  
“Well if you have to ask me that, Bell, you haven’t been listening.” With an angry huff she turned and slammed the bedroom door on him, leaving him out in the cold. 

This was not what he’d expected when he’d accepted his promotion and the leave it afforded him. Running a hand over his face he pondered his options. There was the couch behind him, certainly more comfortable than his previous lodgings, but sorely lacking his wife. Then, through door number two, was his bed, his wife; his home. Sure, she was as angry as a hellcat, but it wasn’t as if he hadn’t ever argued with her in the last five years.   
He knocked on the door, “Clarke, I’m coming in.”  
“Stay out!” Came the muffled response.  
“Clarke, it’s my room, too. You can’t do this to me.”  
“You’ve been two hundred and fifty nine days without it so far, I’m sure you’ll manage another night.”  
“Clarke, this is ridiculous, I’m coming in.”   
He pushed the door open, looking around his bedroom for sign of change. There was nothing. Sure, her clothes were spread out  _everywhere_ but that likely would have been the case had he been there, anyway. “If you’re coming in, turn out the light.” She paused before adding, “and take off that damn uniform, I don’t want to see it.”   
  
She wanted to cry again, this wasn’t what she’d wanted, what she’d imagined when she pictured his return. The reunion of her imaginings involved more candles, lingerie and sweet talk than t-shirts, duvets and arguments. She could hear him undressing behind her, his shoes being kicked off, his jacket being unzipped and dropped, the shirt being pulled over his head, his belt buckle coming undone… As frustrated as she was, she couldn’t deny herself the pleasure of watching him. His back seemed broader and more toned, something she hadn’t thought possible. In the dim lighting it was impossible to tell if he’d been injured, if there were new scars on his body, but she searched anyway as he pulled his pants down and over his feet, before jumping into bed next to her.   
“Don’t pretend you weren’t watching, Princess.” He murmured as he rolled onto his side, facing her, his eyes shut.   
“Well someone has to check for injuries.” She countered, miserably.  
His eyes flew open at that, alive with mischief. “Check for injuries, aye? Might have to come a little closer to be certain, Doctor Blake.”  
“You seem well enough to me, Sergeant,” she said as she rolled over. She wasn’t in the mood for these games, not when her heart felt so heavy.  
“Hey, come on, Clarke.” He moved across the bed so he could put his arms around her, and kissed her neck. “What can I do, Princess? Please, tell me, I’ll do it.”  
 _Stay_ she wanted to scream.  _Stay with me_ . But she knew it was the one thing he couldn’t do. Probably the  _only_ thing he wouldn’t do for her. “Make me forget,” she whispered.  
  
His lips nipped and sucked at her neck as he rolled her beneath him, trapping her hips beneath his and bring his hands up and under her, well his, shirt. He’d wanted to pull it off her the moment he’d seen her in it, but now he made himself wait, made himself draw this out. In his experience there was only one way to make Clarke forget anything, and this was it.   
  
His hands were so soft against her skin she wasn’t sure they were there until one cupped her breast and started playing with her nipple, creating sensations she hadn’t been able to recreate since he’d left. As her mouth parted, his lips caught her own, their tongues briefly meeting before he moved down to that hollow spot at the base of her neck. All she could do was try hold him there, feel his back beneath her hands, tangle her fingers in his hair.   
He didn’t stay there for long, however, and she had to let go as he moved down her body, spreading her legs so he could kneel between them.  
His lips started at her knee, making her giggle and beg him to stop before she could accidentally kick him in the face. Her laughter stopped suddenly though, when he started kissing his way up the inside of her thigh, his hands leading the way, pushing her shirt up higher and higher.   
She shuddered as his tongue parted her lips and flicked the very centre of her, almost crying out as he repeated the motion, again and again, sucking just once before he moved further up, kissing her before she could catch her breath and pulling the shirt up over her head.   
Kissing his way up her jaw, he slipped his hand between them, and a finger between her folds, stroking her clit almost casually as her eyes closed and she almost lost herself.  
She was brought back when his ministrations stilled and he whispered in her ear, “don’t you have something to say to me?” Her mind was fuzzy, what?   
“What?”   
“I asked if there was something you had to say to me.” He said as he drew a circle with his finger.   
“Yes, get back to work.” She deadpanned, looking him straight in the eye.   
“Ah,” he drew a figure eight as he spoke, “is that all I’m good for? Sex?”  
“Well you don’t… seem very good… at much else right now.”  
“Princess, if you want this to end happily, you’re going to have to find the right words.” He stilled his motions once more, watching her face, awaiting her response, hoping like hell it would be one he wanted to hear.  
She looked him in the eye again, one soft tear spilling down her cheek. “I’m sorry. I love you, okay?” She paused before she said it again, “I love you.” As more tears threatened to fall she pulled him down to her, wrapping her arms around his back and in his hair as she kissed him hungrily, two hundred and fifty nine days’ worth of passion finally spilling through.   
She felt him at her entrance, felt his mouth part as his pushed in slowly, both of them enjoying the feeling of being joined again; of being whole. He kissed her when he was there, when she had taken as much of him as was physically possible, and started pulling out, then back in again, creating a steady rhythm that gradually increased as they each became more and more desperate for the end. She raised her hips to meet his, her knees spread wide and high as he thrusted deeper, faster, harder, her arms flying above her head, looking for something to grip as she neared her climax. “Bell…” was all she managed to say as that wave of pleasure hit her and overloaded her senses. Moments later she felt him shudder within her, her name on his lips as he lowered himself onto her, enjoying the feeling of her sweat-soaked body rubbing against his before rolling onto his back, smiling like the cat who got the cream.   
  
He woke up a few hours later with his wife’s head on his chest, and her leg wrapped around his own. Just the sight of her, the feel of her, and he could feel himself rearing to go again. It  _had_ been too long. He was too familiar with his right hand and with one photo in particular, and neither of them could every hope to match the real deal he had before him.   
He started rubbing circles over her back, hoping it would wake her and she’d be as ready as he was, but content to lay there if she wasn’t, or if she didn’t.   
She woke with a start, her eyes dashing around the room before relaxing and settling on him. “You alright there, Princess?”  
“Just wondering who this strange man was in my bed,” she said with a yawn. “But it’s only you.” She settled her head back onto his chest and snuggled in close, making him cringe a little at her proximity and his current condition. “What’s wrong?” She asked, not batting an eye or lifting her head an inch.   
“Nothing. Not a thing.” She raised an eyebrow up at him before the thought dawned on her, and she looked down his body instead, and laughed. “Hey! I am not laughable, thank you,” he protested.  
“Oh honey, I know. I should’ve known you’d be this insatiable.”  
“Well, as you pointed out, it has been two hundred and fifty nine days without my gorgeous, loving wife.” She raised an eyebrow at him as she sat up, straddled his chest and started sliding her way down his body, pushing his shoulders back as he tried to sit up.  
"No, let me,” was all she stated as her hips brushed over his cock and her lips trailed down his stomach. His eyes rolled back into his head as her tongue licked his length, and he struggled to open them again so he could enjoy the sight of his wife bobbing up and down on him. Her hair tickled his thigh as her mouth engulfed him and she began to suck.   
“Clarke!” His hand balled into a fist and came down on the bed beside them as he felt his orgasm approach. “Clarke, I’m gonna…” he didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. As soon as she understood what he was saying, she was moving faster, sucking harder, and maintaining eye contact, knowing it would be the straw to break the camel’s back.   
And so it was. Moments later, she was feeling the last of the spasms run through his body, and finally released him, moving back up to lay on him. “I love you, Bellamy.”  
He chuckled breathlessly, “ _I_ love _you_ , Mrs Blake.”  
“It’s Doctor. Doctor Blake,” she countered as she closed her eyes, content, and ready to let sleep take her.  
  
Her eyes fluttered open slowly, her brain slowly registering the fact that something was cooking in the kitchen.  _Someone’s in the house!_ She panicked, before remembering that her beloved husband had returned to her last night. Stretching out across their bed she couldn’t help but think that today felt like the beginning of the perfect day, and lo and behold, a moment later her husband proved her right, appearing in the doorway wearing her little apron and carrying a plate full of waffles. “Breakfast is served, m’lady,” he said with a showman’s bow, present the food to her.   
She grabbed one off the plate, took a bite and said, “ooh, someone is feeling grateful, chocolate chip? My favourite.” She grinned through the food, causing him to laugh and fall on the bed next to her, picking up a waffle on the way down. They ate in silence for a few moments before Clarke finally mentioned the elephant in the room. “Nice apron. Looks good.”  
“He looked down at himself, smiling at the sight of the pink ruffles that adorned her apron. “Well, had to look after the goods, darling.”  
She smiled as she looked him up and down, appreciating the sight of the shirtless man on her bed. “As nice as it looks, I think it’d look better, off,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.   
“You know what would look better, off? That sheet you’re wearing,” he contested.   
“Right, last person to finish their half of the waffles strips first.”  
“You’ve got a - hey!” He reached for a waffle, and mumbled through his next mouthful, “that’s cheating!” The only response he received was a grin as she continued shoving her mouth full of food, swallowing her last bite as he reached for his second.   
“Strip, pretty boy.” She said it as she leaned back on her elbows, and twirled her finger around, nudging him off the bed with her toes.   
“Fine, deal’s a deal.” As he stood up, he had an idea. Just because he was the one undressing first didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun with it. On his feet now, he started playing the part of a female stripper due for rent, moving his hips in little circles slowly, running his hands up and down his body and into his hair, pulling the best sexy face he could imagine.   
Clarke lasted about five seconds before the image was too much and she was rolling around on their bed, laughing. That was when he undid the apron and climbed on the bed beside her. “Show's over, Princess.”  
“Oh, Bellamy, you, oh my goodness you should’ve, seen yourself,” was all she managed between wheezes. Resting on all fours over her he couldn't help but be glad he was here, in this very moment. His wife so lost in joy and laughter it was as if the world didn’t exist; that neither of them had demands beyond each other.  
As her laughter died down he started to kiss her, patiently, as if he was relearning the curves and shapes of her body, committing them to memory once more. Slowly, she started to position herself closer to him, opening her body to his and getting lost in the sensation of his skin on hers. His hands resting on her waist, drawing light circles around her nipples, stroking her back, holding her ass, all the while his lips paid her close attention, gently following where his hands lead. He took his time with her, enjoying the luxury of being able to do so as he repaid her earlier favour, parting her legs and kissing her there until he felt her orgasm roll over her, her body bending in a slow wave beneath him as he crawled back up to kiss her. Her orgasm made her pliant, and her lips barely responded to his as she continued to quiver. Their mouths touched as they each gasped upon entry, breathing each other’s air and slowly kissing as he withdrew from her. As he pushed back he heard her moan in his ear, spurring him on and bringing him ever closer to that precipice of self-control. His movements became faster as he neared it, as her legs wrapped around his waist. Now he earned a groan at every thrust, the sound of it music to his ears as he felt her walls tighten around him, the combination of that pleasure and his name on her lips sending him over the edge as he drove into her one more time, panting and falling onto his elbows over her.  
Her legs remained locked around his waist, unwilling to let him go just yet, and her hands ran up over his back to his hair, pulling him down to kiss her as she released him.   
He rolled over and lay down next to her, then rolled back onto his side as she said, “come here,” and wrapped him around her, pulling his arm under head and the other over her waist to cup her breast as she wiggled her ass back into him. He was just about to fall asleep when he heard her soft voice. “I don’t want you to leave.”  
It broke him to hear her voice so broken, so upset, but he knew his duty, and he knew she knew it, too. “I know, Clarke, I know.” He softly kissed her shoulder, and felt her wipe away a tear. “I’ll always, come back to you, Clarke. Always.” He repeated, and felt her slow nod.  
"Can we just stay like this, please? For now?”  
“As if I'd say no,” he answered, earning a small chuckle from her. “I love you, Clarke.”  
“I love you, too.”  
  
After making her apologies at work, the rest of their week was spent going between the kitchen and their bedroom, which expanded to fast food outlets and the supermarket when Bellamy’s creativity in the kitchen was truly put to the test due to Clarke’s inability to stock a pantry correctly.   
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her, then, when she missed a period.   
She blamed it on the stress of the job. Then, when she was sick a week later, she blamed it on the dodgy chicken she’d eaten the night before. When the sickness passed by mid-afternoon, she told herself it was a 24 hour bug. But when she had that same “24 hour bug” five days in a row, she had to face facts and buy a pregnancy test. Waiting for the result was the most nerve-wracking experience of her life. Her mind kept going to the darkest of places, the scenarios that involved Bellamy’s death and her life as a single mother. Or the ones in which Bellamy was less than pleased. Or the ones where she’d ruined her child’s life by drinking that glass of wine with Raven the other night. It wasn’t until she was holding the positive test in her hand that she truly knew how she felt; excited.  
Five days later, when she finally managed to get a hold of him, she told him the good news, delighted to watch his face break out into a smile the likes of which she hadn’t seen since their wedding day. He was ridiculous, asking her to turn side on even though their child was little more than a bean at that moment, directing his speech to her stomach and pulling one of his comrades into his happy dance. 

By the end of her second trimester, Clarke was watching the news avidly for any sign of a truce, for any sign that her husband would be coming home soon. It wasn’t so much that she missed him, she did. But she resented the living  _daylights_ out of him for daring to come home for a week, impregnate her, then leave her to deal with it all. The stress was hammering away at her week by week, until she felt like she was losing her mind and there was nothing she wouldn’t give to have a partner in all of this. There was the baby’s room to make up, a crib, stroller, car seat, bottles, blankets, books, toys,  _clothes_ to get for their little one. She’d elected not to find out the sex, preferring the surprise, and regretted it every time she and Bellamy found five minutes to try and talk about names. While she loved all the historical references, she wasn’t sure she wanted her child to be named after a Roman Imperator, and he couldn't agree that naming their child after either of their parents was a lovely sentiment. 

She wasn’t alone when she gave birth to their little boy, but he wasn't there either. At every opening of the door she hoped it was him swinging the door open, ready to hold her hand and coax her through it, but to no avail. Instead she found herself gripping the hand of her sister-in-law, who had proclaimed herself her brother’s replacement, at least until he got back.   
That was how she found herself collapsing on a bed next to Octavia every other night, the two of them exhausted, and her own husband wondering when he’d be getting his wife back.   
He was nameless for six weeks. Six weeks of calling him baby and boy-o that suddenly ended when her husband showed up on her doorstep and agreed to whatever she wanted so long as she’d let him inside and not have a repeat performance of last time. Clarke didn’t have the energy to do anything but throw herself in his arms and cry as Octavia brought their son, Jacob Alexander Blake out to meet his father, leaving all the Blakes with tear-filled eyes out on the front lawn, overjoyed merely to be in each other’s company. 

 

 


End file.
